Bureaucracy in Action
by goodgirl-astray
Summary: All the truly great bureaucrats had their time in the trenches. Crowley and Naomi had a secret work relationship for decades. Premises of the story: Crowley not having a soul (S8, E2) is unusual for a demon. To get close to becoming human again (S8, E23) he had to have one. My solution - Naomi found it and gave it back to him. Naomi is able to hide her grace Naomi is alive.
1. Prologue

Bureaucracy in Action

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural**_ is an American television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

Story starts at the first meeting (we see) between Crowley and Naomi (season 8, episode 17, "Goodbye Stranger")

**Prologue **

Crowley was just a little bit annoyed. He didn't have the tablet, he had been put in the situation to destroy a demon he was fond of torturing, his suit had a hole in it and it was stained with blood. His shoulder was tingling, mending itself where his former favourite chew toy had stabbed him, but he didn't like to use supernatural influences on his clothes. He'd just have to visit his tailor sooner than planned.

And to top the crappy day, he was now sensing this particular angelic presence. He recognized it, even if it had been a while since the last time he'd been this close to this entity.

"_Naomi. Fancy meeting you here. Haven't seen you in a dark age. Love the haircut_."

He saw the small smile tugging the corner of her lips at his insolent tone. He was almost touched to hear concern in her voice when she asked

"_How's the shoulder?_"

"_Just a flesh wound,_" he answered and wondered if her second, even briefer smile had it been just an automated response or had she got the Monty Python reference.

The rest of the conversation was a headache provoking exchange of words covering truths and worries on both sides.

In the centuries they had known each other, Naomi and Crowley had never outright lied to one another. Even when he teased her "_If you remember our time in Mesopotamia the way I do, you know I'm a lover, not a fighter_" he hadn't actually lied, although he had never been her lover. He would bet serious money that he was the only being who could claim to have come even close though.

He didn't resent her for disappearing at the end. His comment about her stealing his move was absent-minded. His huge, King of Hell size ego was saying that if she had stayed to hear his offer, she would have been unable to refuse.

He teleported to his current above ground deluxe suite and the thought that Naomi ran away because of his "_I must have something that you want" _line improved his mood tremendously. He decided that she disappeared because she did want something from him.

"_You, celestial being, have been created to be an angel of the Lord_", he hummed the Enochian words pouring himself a generous amount of scotch.

He sipped at it lazily as he undressed. In privacy, he often did human things like getting dressed and undressed instead of simply snapping his fingers to change wardrobe, or things like showering and enjoying the same brand of scotch for decades.

There were other remnants of his human self. Selling his soul had proven worthwhile, just not for the reason he had done it. From an abusive, unremarkable man, he had slowly risen to being the King of Hades. As homage to that choice, he had always been fussy about the bodies he chose to inhabit. He was particular about the quality of his clothes, and downright fastidious when it came to the physical attributes of his chosen vessel. He glanced at his current body in the mirror before stepping into the shower and he liked what he saw. Even relaxed, he was proud of the size of his… endowment.

He was completely contended with his present body. He would never pick someone extraordinary in any way that would be apparent at first, second or a hundredth glance. Anyone seeing him without clothes would find him extraordinary, but he had always managed to keep this from happening by accident. And if someone got to see Crowley naked, it was because he had planned it.

He realized that he hadn't wanted anyone to see his extraordinary side for a long, long time. For years, power had been such a wonderful sensation. For decades, scheming had been more rewarding than mere orgasms. Building up a reputation, creating alliances, betraying without the awareness of those he betrayed – so reinvigorating. It had made the time pass by without even noticing celibacy. Well, almost celibacy. He was a demon, after all.

He wondered about Naomi, how had she handled power and scheming for all those thousands of years. Angels were not immune to lust, the existence of nephilims was proof of that. But he didn't actually need proof. He had his memories.

He got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips and walked onto the balcony of his penthouse suite, half naked and half drunk. Crowley raised his eyes to the stars that were sparking coldly on the black sky and went back in his memories.


	2. Mesopotamia

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is an American television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

**Mesopotamia**

Crowley was about 300 years old, which made him one of the younger demons rising through the ranks. And he was rising fast, only his healthy paranoia keeping him discrete. He couldn't compete with the likes of angels, old demons or knights of hell. Luckily for him, all the knights were dead, the old demons were easy to flatter and the angels could be distracted by big threats. He loved building up a the reputation of an already powerful and therefore dangerous demon, leak a few rumours about said demon's intentions to destroy humanity or attack heaven, and the angels would start following the breadcrumbs, forgetting about him.

Even more than that he carefully cultivated a non threatening facade, striking minor gentlemen's agreements with angelic counterparts, so subtle and apparently so not-evil that most of them never understood how much they were being corrupted.

Everyone so busy to do mindless violence that they never had time to watch out for a deal maker. He had a clear path to the top and he was forcing himself not to run.

He was almost completely correct in his assumption. Almost no one had had the time or clarity of mind to notice him. While most demons were facing hunters and Men of Letters, and on rare occasions angels of the Lord in their shiny, obvious armours, Crowley had attracted the attention of the intelligence division of Heaven, the only organization more paranoid than him.

One night, on the shores of the Euphrates, Crowley was celebrating quietly, having enjoyed a streak of very good deals and the imminent fall of the next demon he set up to be destroyed by Heaven.

Crowley sensed the angelic presence, and identified it almost instantly - Naomi. He had learned the name early in his demonic existence when she intervened in one of his first deals. The only reason he had remained, for the lack of a better word, alive after that encounter, was that he had backed off quickly. He was not ashamed to run away from fights he couldn't win. Naomi's power, like that of most angels, was vastly superior to his, and therefore, he was always polite with her, almost snivelling in his wish to remain uninteresting to her, and he always vanished before she could think about smiting him.

He was considering vanishing again when he sensed the chink in her grace. His host body had strong reactions even after being inhabited by the careful Crowley for a decade. And for the first time since he had known Naomi, he stayed to face her, not intending to kill her, but not ruling out the possibility.

Against his first instinct, Crowley approached cautiously the place that radiated her essence. He had his game face on, the bon vivant, the shallow, easy going, salesdemon. Under the cold starlight, he looked at the nun that contained Naomi's spirit. Barely contained it. He noticed the pain, the metaphorical cracks in the armour. He had to take advantage, or at least study an angel on the brink of falling apart.

"Good evening," he said in his most sensual, yet non threatening tone.

The angel looked up at him, and her sparkling blue eyes should have been a warning. Even lacking the angelic tell-tale sign of imminent smiting her look was fierce.

"Easy there, luv. Not gonna bite ya," he whispered.

The woman took a deep breath, obviously trying to control the pain. His heightened sense of sight allowed him to notice the blue veins showing unnaturally on her skin. His mind tried to find the right epithet milk white or marble white? What was she, a mother figure, a loving, innocent angel? Or was she one of those angels with the moral rigidity of a marble statue? Didn't matter all that much. What mattered most was that she was vulnerable. And he was a still young demon. Taking down an angel would be a lovely, lovely trophy.


	3. Open your eyes

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is an American television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

All the truly great bureaucrats become bureaucrats after they had their time in the real trenches. This part of the story is meant as a bit of a prequel to what Crowley and Naomi are by the time we meet them in Supernatural.

This story is influenced vaguely by John LeCarre cold war era spy books.

In "Good Omens", Crowley's first incarnation was the snake from the original sin story. That's why I had Naomi call him "snake".

**Open your eyes**

"Which one are you?" Naomi asked.

Crowley wasn't sure if he was actually offended or he should pretend to be. It was unusual for an angel of the Lord not to see right through the meat suit and be able to identify immediately which demon was possessing a human. Puzzling because, for one thing, angels had a specialized intellect and almost unlimited knowledge, and for another, they didn't have enough spirit to spew a decent insult. That added up to the conclusion that this high and mighty lady-angel was somehow wounded. He was almost purring. Wounded… vulnerable… just the way he liked it.

Years later, in some unpleasant moments of sobriety, he had to admit that thinking of her in terms of "lady-angel" should have been a warning.

"Name's Crowley."

The complete lack of recognition on her face annoyed him, although it should have pleased him. Not knowing him meant underestimating him, and in that there was safety, there was the chance to use the element of surprise.

"Naomi."

She said it so quietly, her voice was barely above a whisper. He decided that there was nothing to gain if he admitted that he knew her.

"Honoured. Listen, I don't want to ruffle your feathers… even more… but you look like you could use some help. How about a peace accord?"

When he noticed her instant bristling, Crowley raised his hands in a mollifying gesture and added with all the apparent gallantry he could reasonably add to his persona.

"For the night, darlin', just for tonight," he drawled.

"I'm not making a deal with you," she said, almost softly.

In a human, that tone would be nothing more than the beginning of negotiations, a path to surrender. He didn't make the mistake to assume this was the case.

"Not offering one," he said and extended a hand toward her.

It looked for all intended purposes like a human gesture. Her response, apparently just as human - she accepted his hand and, without words, his truce for the night. Her touch was completely alien, absolutely unlike anything he had ever experienced. Like burning ice. Like… like nothing that was supposed to exist, nothing that could be bound by the laws of nature. It didn't seem to be this way just for him, he noted with some degree of satisfaction her slight and completely unnecessary intake of breath.

"Does it feel as good for you as it does for me?" he heard himself say in a lame attempt to shatter the awkwardness he felt.

"Shut up, snake!" she said.

"That might not be possible," he said. "Unless you want to seal a deal with me."

The comeback had come out of reflex, because it was actually true that he couldn't be silent. The implied suggestion that she might only silence him with a kiss was meant to make her feel uncomfortable. He always enjoyed making angels uncomfortable with more or less crass sexual innuendos, but this angel was very close. She was at eye level with him and Crowley noticed, their lips were aligned as well. He found it hard to control the urge to lean into an unsolicited kiss. He saw the spark in her beautiful blue eyes, a clue to an inner reaction that seemed to surprise her as well. When she spoke, her voice sounding very old and tired, undercutting the strangeness of her words:

"We might have to do that one day."

And with that, she did the unthinkable, she fainted. Crowley caught her and stared incredulous at the inert body. He extended his senses gingerly to try to figure out the extent of her wounds. He planned to corrupt her or get his first angel kill, but he did not like having no understanding of a situation.

Her grace seemed… dimmed somehow. In his dealings with other angels, foot soldiers in the feathered army, he had sensed their power, their grace, and he had always made note of their flaws. Now he had the opportunity to study an angel who was hurt. He took a leap of faith that she wouldn't destroy him once she regained consciousness. It would be very useful for him to know what was wrong with her, who hurt her and why. He decided to keep her safe so that he could learn more about the vulnerabilities of angels.

The best way to do that was to take her to his temporary residence without employing traceable supernatural means. His fondness for doing things the human way had helped him more than once. Neither demons, nor angels were very good at keeping up with the humans' technical progress.

Crowley carried her to his Bentley and drove to his hotel instead of teleporting with her in his room.

"Wake up, darling", he whispered. "Wouldn't look right if I carried you through the lobby".

He parked the car and changed her clothes with a snap of his fingers. Showing up with a nun, even an awake nun, would also look out of place. He surprised himself stroking her hair while he whispered her name.

"Naomi..."

He couldn't found any wounds, either physical or spiritual, but he was aware he had limitations when it came to beings of light. She opened her beautiful blue eyes and he noticed that she had a hard time focusing.

"Come on. You're going to be safe here," he said, wondering if it was true not knowing what had harmed her.

"You are... unexpectedly kind," she said.

"Yeah, don't get used to it," he told her when he was helping her out of the car.

She raised an eyebrow looking at the clothes she was wearing. An elegant evening dress, with quite a bit of cleavage and the wisp of silk around her neck, covering the blue veins pulsing too close to the surface of her skin and yet not covering her bosom.

"What? You have to blend in," he said defensively. "You should appreciate I chose something decent," he grumbled.

The angel shivered a little when he put his palm at the small of her back, guiding her. He noticed her annoyance at the bright, exquisitely decadent luxury hotel.

"This is safe?" she asked, leaning as if to whisper something intimate in his ear.

Crowley did a wonderful job of not showing his reaction. This whole evening was becoming increasingly strange. His damn body was having a physical reaction to an angel! Maybe it was just a vessel to vessel sort of issue.

"Yes. You can trust me," he answered.

He didn't have time to be annoyed at how husky his voice sounded and how clouded his mind felt, because he had to steady her. Something was wrong with her and he wondered briefly if he was going to get his suit stained when her vessel exploded or he'd have time to teleport. At the same time, Crowley was asking himself serious questions, too. Why would she choose a vessel so unsuited to contain her? Was she in trouble, hiding from something? Was she on a mission of such urgency that she didn't have time to choose a more suitable body?

They were so close that he could see, again, her blue veins contrasting the white skin of her neck. He arranged the silk scarf to conceal this from the humans. She made a strange side, between a hiss and a sigh, when the tips of his fingers brushed against her skin. It took a lot of will power not to touch her again.

Once they were in his room, Crowley set her in his bed and began warding the room against anything he could think of. This, of course, on top of the layer of protection he already had for himself. When he was done, he poured himself a drink and waited for her to wake up or blow up. He had no compunction about removing all her clothes. He did it without touching her though. But then again, that wasn't out of a lingering sense of propriety, but self-preservation.

He watched her, learning as much as he could about the process of an angel getting comfortable in a new host. The new body seemed to resist. The writhing gave way to peaceful sleep. The veins no longer showed dangerously on her skin like blue and black tattoos. And a few minutes later, he heard her sleepy voice calling his name.

"Crowley?"

He didn't answer for a moment. She sat up in bed, her gaze scanning the darkness, looking for him. He had drawn a circle around the bed in Holy Oil while she was asleep, just in case he had to contain her. But Naomi didn't get out of bed. When she distinguished him among the shadows in the room, she knelt on the bed, facing him. It was a disturbing image to Crowley's demon eyes... this... praying pose.

"What hurt you?" he asked.

"Don't you find it difficult to inhabit a human body?" she said with a shrug. "The feeling of confinement. The reactions, the memories and weaknesses. And sometimes, even when they accept you, some part of them holds back."

"Not really. We take what we want. And make it our own."

He was almost lying. Some humans were more difficult to inhabit than others. He wondered what was like to have to ask for permission to be inside one. He preferred to ask forgiveness than permission. He was a daring devil and he was getting more daring all the time.

Sometimes it worried him that he was getting too cocky. Not everybody could be as stupid as he saw them. They couldn't all think only one or two moves ahead. He had been planning to get to the higher echelons of Hell for centuries. And he hated to admit, but he did have a virtue. Patience. He could wait for the right move without blinking, without taking his eyes off the prize.

"You know you're different, don't you?" she said apropos of nothing, and yet interrupting his thoughts almost as if she was reading his mind.

"Sure," he said with a smugness designed to cover up the apprehension.

"We can't see you," she elaborated. "All angels can see the true face of a demon, no matter the human they are possessing. But not you. Some of us can sense there's a demon in front of us, but not identify you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Part of my duty," she said, closing her eyes, intense sadness in her voice. "You were a human, one of those we are sworn to protect. Angels feel pain for every human soul who gets demonized."

She was telling him too much, and she was almost straightforward which was unnerving him. This was not the sort of information given freely. Something was definitely wrong.

"But once we become demons, we're mortal enemies, right?"

He felt silly to ask something so obvious but the whole thing was unreal.

"It is our duty to fight for every human soul. Try to get it out of hell if we can."

"You? Would fight to save my soul?" he asked incredulous.

Naomi opened her eyes, searching for his gaze. Her beautiful blue eyes were sparkling. Were those tears?

"I would, if you still had one. Can't you tell?" she put a palm on her chest, over her heart. "You don't have your soul any more."

Crowley reeled at the notion. It was like an adult human learning that he was hatched from an egg and was actually a bird that had no feathers and walked on two legs. Demons were forged in hell, from human souls, tormented to the extent that they lost the humanity and remained sheer, malevolent spirits.

They stayed in silence for a while. When she spoke again, her voice didn't have even a remnant of that celestial self-assurance he abhorred, but always capitalised on.

"I am at an unusual point in the existence of an angel. I have a choice to make."

This was a good confirmation. Crowley ticked an imaginary box in his mind: angels have their actions programmed, therefore they can only react predictably. At the same time, he made a mental note: **most** angels don't have choices. Some, Naomi included, could choose. Danger and opportunity. He should identify as many of these mutant angels as he could. They would be so useful.

"I know you're gathering information for Lilith. You are helping her set the stage for releasing Lucifer."

He shuddered. He had been careful. They knew?! They, **she** knew about Lilith, knew about him learning about the seals, and worst of all she knew that he was involved!

"Yes, you should be worried," she went on. "But you're wrong to fear only us. Think! Best case scenario. You succeed, Lucifer – the most powerful of all the angels - is out of the cage. What does he want?"


	4. Revelations

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

**Revelations**

Think!

And with that, the wheels started turning. His thoughts were weaving themselves in an unexpected pattern. What was the basic assumption on which he had operated all these years? That Lucifer was the creator of their species and He was the only one who could rule the underworld. But what was He and what did He want? He was an angel. The most powerful of all angels. And He wanted to wipe out humanity. An angel who hated human beings. So how would He feel about a race that was a bastardised version of humanity?

Best case scenario. Lucifer out of the cage. The extermination of the human race. What use would demons be if not to contribute bringing souls into hell. No human race, no souls, no demons. Simple enough. Unthinkable. And yet...

"This is a trick," he said, without conviction, looking at the naked angel on his bed.

She looked back without speaking for a while, letting him read her. Nothing in her features, in her body language, in her aura, nothing gave away a single sign of deceit.

"You didn't ask what is the choice I have to make," she said.

"Too many revelations in such a short time," he muttered, only a trace of the distrust he felt noticeable in his voice.

A smile lifted the corner of her mouth for a second. The smile had been fleeting but Crowley would always remember it. He could make this angel smile.

"Time is precious. It took a lot of planning to have even these few moments alone with you."

Crowley looked at her, trying to ignore the nakedness, and almost completely succeeding. If this was a trap, he was damned (eye-roll) if he could see the end game. He realized he was still silent, with his mouth probably hanging open a little, when she spoke again.

"What is the most important question in the game?"

"Why," he answered.

"Indeed. One should always wonder why something is done."

"All right. Why? Why are you talking to me?"

She looked at him, her expression quietly pleased. A teacher's expression.

"Because you can make a difference."

"Because I'm different?" he asked with a note of derision in his voice.

"Very much so."

Her obvious earnestness was annoying.

"How can you be sure I understood what you wanted me to understand?"

"You are the smartest being I encountered in my whole existence. And that is a long time and a lot of beings. You know what's my role in heaven?"

"Intelligence," he said unable to resist telling the truth.

"I studied, taught and changed more beings than you can imagine. Your mind is flawless. There is nothing I would do to change how it works. The only limitations come from your upbringing and the amount of data you have at your disposal."

"Oh, now, I'm not just different, I'm perfect? Not all demons respond to flattery, you know."

"You're not perfect yet. But it was a matter of timing. This is the only moment when I could reach you unbeknownst to anyone."

"You snuck down here to meet me? Daddy doesn't know? Big brother Michael is in the dark?" he asked trying to annoy her, without avail.

"No. No one knows. I chose this body because it can shield me for a while from heaven. The only way to talk to you was to become human. I am vulnerable now. You can end me and you'd have long enough to get away before they would figure it out," she said.

He remained seated watching as she came toward him, stepping unaffected on the angel sigil. Naked. Beautiful. Obviously mortal.

"I'm mortal now," she confirmed his thoughts. "It would still count as an angel kill if you decide to do it. Your reputation will be enhanced."

His mind worked faster than ever before. She had just opened his mind to the possibility that if Lilith's plan was successful, if Azazel managed to create the perfect vessel for Lucifer, if everything he had worked for would be a success, all humans and all demons would be destroyed. And most likely all angels would live forever in their cold, perfect heaven. Lucifer would destroy a lot of angels, too, in the meantime, but still, not in the least Crowley's idea of a perfect ending. The question that mattered.

"If he loses or if he wins, angels are safe. Why do you want intervene?" he asked her, running his fingers along the side of her body, from waist to thigh, while she remained standing in front of his armchair.

The shivers this contact caused in his physical form helped him draw his mind back just a little from the enormity of what he was contemplating – betraying Satan. He kept the caress light, despite the surge of madness that was pushing him to grab hard the flesh instead of barely touching the skin.

"Humanity," she answered, "rubs off if one deals with humans long enough. You are already feeling it, but you think it's a remnant of your human self. It is not."

Her body was trembling under his touch, her voice was wavering. Her eyes were growing darker, the black of the pupils conquering almost all of the brilliant blue, but she went on speaking.

"They're so... inventive. You can't imagine the boredom before they were here."

Her eyes were heavy lidded, her voice had faint harmonics of lust that were driving him to distraction. He kept touching her, gambling his existence on the guess that he would be able to handle the sensory overload better than her. Both his vessel and himself had a lot more experience with carnal desire than the nun and the angel that resided in her.

"What do you think I can do? You're talking about the hindering the plan of the most powerful of all angels, who is served by the most powerful and most insane of all demons."

"I do not know. But I know that there are none who will do anything."

None who will. Not none who can.

"There are others who can?" he asked softly, while his fingers were burning coldly. He could feel the very real blood flow under the sensation of icy fire. He was less and less able to ignore the feeling of soft skin against his sensitive, curious fingers.

"You yourself named them moments ago."

Daddy. Big brother Michael. Two beings whose power he feared more than that of Lucifer. Although, in the darkest part of his mind, Crowley didn't believe that "Daddy" existed. There had been no intervention from God in thousands of years. And even before that,all there was had come through the words of angels. Angels like Michael or that poor bastard, Metatron.

"Why don't they?"

She shrugged and it did things to her body that made him lose track of the conversation for a heartbeat. She was completely unaware of her nakedness. He was beginning to doubt that he was the more clear minded of them until he heard the softest of sounds escaping her lips.


	5. Touching an angel

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

**Touching an angel**

He memorized the way he was touching her when she sighed, but went on talking as if nothing else was going on. Crowley's voice was usually low and gravelly when he wasn't shouting his real or pretended anger. He wondered briefly if she was aware that his arousal was lowering it even more. He was well aware of the effect this had on most women.

Without an inner debate, he decided. Whatever her reasons for this crazy meeting, he had made up his mind. Maybe the success of Lucifer's plan would mean the end of all demons, including his precious and beloved self, maybe not. But he would put all his ingenuity against the Morning Star because for the first time he saw the opportunity to get rid of him. With angelic assistance, he could aim not just for higher echelons of hell, but for the rule of Hell.

Time to make a deal.

"You're right," he said continuing his lazy caresses. "I can throw a spanner in the works. Are you going to help me?"

"How?"

He almost purred hearing her ask the question in a sensual exhalation of air. He knew that there were only shreds of control left in her. The poor, untouched, dreaded angel was, probably for the first time, close to someone who wasn't treating her like she was a dangerous ethereal being. He thought about pulling her in his lap, but decided against it. She could snap to reality if he did. Or he might forget himself, which was an astonishing but not impossible outcome.

"Information. There are things I will want to know that would be dangerous for me to ask the wrong person."

He was now holding her hands, running his thumbs over her wrists, observing the rapid rhythm of her pulse, imagining the flow of blood being pumped forcefully through her. He wondered in passing what would it taste like. The blood of a nun inhabited by an angel. It must taste... divine...

"Indeed," she agreed. "Discretion is paramount. I will help you."

His fingers no longer seemed sensitive enough to experience her closeness. He brought her left wrist to his lips and placed a feather light first kiss on her skin. It burnt him. She tensed, probably having a similar sensation, and pulled back her hand a little. Crowley tightened his grip, although he didn't have to because she hadn't meant to get away from him. He liked the sensation of holding her tight, holding her against her will, holding her until it hurt. With an effort of will he distanced himself from this dangerous, slippery slope of his dark imagination.

"Do you know how I can get my soul back?" he asked, whispering against her skin.

"Yessss," she hissed, like she was in pain, like she was on fire.

"You're going to help me get it back?" he asked, kissing her right wrist.

She knelt before him, without trying to free her hands. She just put her palms on his cheeks, with his own hands like handcuffs around her wrists.

"Of course," she said, looking into his eyes.

The sensation of icy burning on his cheeks and her hypnotizing gaze were destabilizing his mental compass. He was barely appreciating the image of a beautiful naked woman kneeling before him, he was only aware of her proximity. He could hear the loud, rapid thumping of her very human heart. He could feel the maddening pulse under his thumbs when she leaned in and kissed his forehead chastely. They stayed like that, without moving, for a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity. Then she slipped away from him, standing up again.

"How can I contact you?" he asked.

"You can't," Naomi answered. "Because you don't pray," she explained. "And any other way would reveal our..." she hesitated for a moment, as if looking for the proper word and settled for "collaboration. When you need to talk to me, come back to Mesopotamia. Alone."

He saw that she was regaining her composure. About time he did the same.

"Mesopotamia? I know it's not polite to remind a lady of her age, but this land hasn't been known as Mesopotamia for several centuries."

He said in such an insolent tone that Naomi actually blushed. He pressed his advantage by leering openly at her nakedness, now that she was a few feet away. Crowley took his time looking her up and down, pausing on the places of most interest and he had the satisfaction to see her blushing intensify. Naomi was becoming aware of her nakedness in a way that hadn't occurred to her before. She couldn't sustain his gaze and moved her arms in a demure attempt of covering herself.

In a heartbeat Crowley covered the distance between them, his hands encircling her wrists again, holding her arms to either side of her body. They were looking in each other's eyes, and time seemed to stay still again. Sparks of something like electricity were filling the air between them.

"What is the choice?"

Before she answered, he felt the change. He sensed the power flowing through her. He saw the expansive wings opening, so big that they almost touched the ceiling. He saw her beautiful body was no longer naked, but covered in sparkling silver dress.

"To smite you or to save you."

The burning sensation intensified. It became an unbearable pain, like acid on his palms. The light of her essence so strong it felt like a laser beam cutting through Crowley's heart.

Naomi's features were showing pain as well, yet she wasn't trying to free herself from his grasp. His grip became harder, but he no longer felt as though he was holding her captive by force. There was only a deep sadness in her eyes.

"Who would have thought this to be your first choice?" he murmured, and vanished.


	6. Secret angel-demon cooperation

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

Secret meetings between Crowley and Naomi in which they discuss the progress of the plan to kill Lucifer. (Season 5)

**Secret angel-demon cooperation**

Crowley stood on the shores of the Euphrates, looking at the river that had witnessed some of the most horrific battles between the armies of Heaven and Hell, pondering those simpler times. If things would still be simple, if evil and good just as readily identifiable as then, he would not be on the path to the throne of Hell.

It hardly registered to him that his house had been burned down. Just the fact that he lost his tailor bothered him a little. It was hard to find that level of craftsmanship

in this century and he was aware that it would be months until he would be safe for him to visit Savile Row.

Naomi appeared next to him out of thin air. He was expecting her and it still freaked out that she just knew when he was alone.

"So, it begins," she said.

"They have the Colt. Out of my hands now."

Naomi nodded almost uninterestedly which annoyed him.

"Oh, it's not like it's the future of... everyone at stake. Please, stay calm! Don't care too much or anything!" he almost yelled at her.

"I care. Do you think that I should be surprised that you managed to give them the weapon? You can talk anyone into anything."

He wrinkled his forehead as if considering her remark, than nodded, granting her the point. Apparently he could be flattered, too. Although, it wasn't flattery if it was true. The comment coming from Naomi of all people, he considered it high praise.

"Actually I think it went a little too smoothly," he said.

Naomi gave him one of his least favourite looks: the disappointed pure angel.

"Their mother died in flames. A demon took their father's soul. One of them lost the woman he loved and the other lives believing he will never have a family of his own. All this to bring them to this point and you think it went smoothly?"

"You used to like how I think," he pointed out.

"I never said that. Your mind is flawless, that didn't mean I like it."

"Why are you quibbling?" Crowley asked coming closer to her.

"I'm worried," she admitted. "All this grand design to be undone by a human weapon."

She shook her head, looking deeply troubled. So much so that she wasn't distancing herself from him.

"Is this what got your knickers in a twist then?" he asked, squeezing her shoulder, almost affectionately.

She turned to face him. He allowed his hand to glide along her upper arm as if by accident. He was addicted to the tingling sensation he got from touching her through layers of fabric.

"Why are you hiding your soul?" she asked looking him straight in the eye.

Oh, that.

"You still don't trust me!" he exclaimed, trying an evasive manoeuvre.

"Why, Crowley?"

Not cockroach. Not snake. His name. He sighed.

"Because I wouldn't be able to do this if I have it. It makes me doubt myself."

"After this is over, if you remain soulless, I will have to destroy you. "

"Threats, Naomi? Really?"

He was no longer the young demon she could grind under the heal of her show, but he wasn't sure he could win in a fight. Not yet.

"Just a warning. We both know that I'm not one for open combat, but you leave me no choice."

Not open combat, but she had her talents. She had managed to sneak into Hell and get his soul back. That spelled all kinds of dangerous. But he couldn't admit anything like that aloud.

"I'm sure you can come up with something. You, bureaucrats, always do."

She flinched at his words.

"I am not a bureaucrat! Just because I try to get things done cleanly, before there's need for bloodshed, doesn't mean that I'm a bureaucrat!"

"It wasn't an insult, love. It was meant as a compliment to your resourcefulness."

Naomi's eyes starting glowing with celestial light and her whole being began to sparkle. Crowley decided it was a good moment to vanish. He did it with a smirk on his face, thinking that, for his favourite angel, her reaction was the equivalent of the stereotypical Italian woman throwing a plate at her lover's head during a heated argument. The fun thing about stereotypical Italian relationships was that crazy arguments ended up in fiery make up sex. It had never happened with him and Naomi, but a demon could dream.

* * *

"IT DIDN'T WORK! IT DIDN'T BLOODY WORK!" Crowley was yelling.

In her seat, Naomi was watching him patiently.

"Are you quite done?"

"Oh, excuse me. I thought that was something to be worried about. Not like now I'm on the black list of the most powerful being in existence. Oh, wait I AM!"

"You really like the sound of your voice," she said.

"Yes, well, I don't take it graciously when my plans don't work," he said in an almost perfectly calm tone.

She smiled at his admission. This calmed him down even more and that was disturbing.

"Let's find another way, then."

Crowley smiled despite himself. He kind of liked the idea of a brainstorming session with Naomi. She wasn't his kind of smart, she had too much knowledge to deal with and she was slow at making certain connections that seemed obvious to him, but she was coming closer than anyone else. At least she was smart enough to appreciate him to his true value.

Their collaboration worked because she had the raw data and her construction allowed her to present the facts without, or at least with little distortion due to personal views.

"Okay, let's go back to the basics. What can kill Lucifer?"

She answered promptly, machine-like.

"Another archangel or an archangel blade."

They both fell silent and Crowley tried to clear his mind. He decided to distract himself from the problem and the only interesting thing in the room was the quiet angel who sat in an armchair across from him with an expression of serenity and meditation.

He tried to undress her in his minds, to superimpose the image of her naked body over the reality of her office attire. It was working pretty well and he was at an interesting point, mentally caressing her inner thigh when the listening device in the Wichesters' car started transmitting. The demon and the angel listened in awe. Dean and Sam were talking about remaking the Cage.

"Gabriel," Naomi whispered.

Crowley turned to watch her. He had never heard that tone before.

"A soft spot? Naomi, I am shocked," he said it with his silkiest voice.

He was trying to embarrass her but he was the one pretending that he didn't notice her blush. And pretended real hard that it did not bothered him.


	7. Bridge over time

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

I'm writing this for fun and I'm not making any money from this. The lines quoted from the show are in _Italics._

**Bridge over time**

Crowley made a swift recap of the evening news: Gabriel, the MIA archangel had been alive all along, what's more Crowley himself had run into him more than once in his guise as the Trickster, and now that he could have been useful, was actually dead. Fucking great!

"We have to help them," Naomi said.

When Crowley looked at her he saw her eyes sparkling with tears like sapphire in the moonlight. Hmm… his special angel had a past. He was narcissist enough to dismiss her past and enjoy the fact that her present use of the plural meant the two of them. Useful as the late archangel might have been, he was dead now. Dead like so many other powerful beings. While Crowley was still standing. In the shadows for the moment, but still standing.

They set up the plan that night.

Crowley saw Naomi accept the price that should never be acceptable for an angel. If he had his soul, he might have been inclined to point it out. She was trading Lucifer's imprisonment for two human souls: Bobby Singer and Sam Winchester.

For the first time, he saw her as the guard dog of heaven when she agreed to his key pressure points.

For the first time, Crowley truly appreciated Naomi's angelic background, not just for her encyclopedic knowledge of… everything. He saw the guardian angel in her when she suggested soft touches he could use – when he used Bobby's soul to find Death, he should also grant him the use of his legs again. It was so useful and so perverse, that Crowley was smiling like the Cheshire cat. He saw the intelligence officer in her when she gave him the idea of how to use flip Brady's loyalty. He knew it got to her when he rolled off his tongue the phrase "lovers in league against Satan". In a way, that was what the two of them were. Who would have believed it? Crowley and Naomi lovers in league against Satan. Well… not lovers, but the point still stood.

"This is just plan B," she said. "The best option is for Michael to incarnate. If Dean Winchester accepts him, all this… doesn't have to happen."

He heard in her voice that she was trying to soothe her conscience. Not conscience, actually. Angel had no souls, so instead of conscience they had… programming?

"Have you met Dean Winchester?" Crowley asked mockingly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's not going to accept Michael. I would wager my soul on that."

She looked at him furious. Not only he had burst her bubble of hope that she hadn't just doomed two souls, but he had reminded her about his own soul. The night was full of first times: for the first time, Naomi grabbed the collar of his jacket with her right hand and pushed him against the wall. She extended her left arm and something that looked like a grey cloud with lightning sparkling through it appeared on her palm. Before he could think of reacting, she put the palm on his chest, pressing the dirty light into him. Crowley heard her voice through the excruciating pain.

"You little being have no idea what I had to do for this! How it affected me! How it still affects me! You better prove that you are special and imprison the creator of your miserable race or I will come after you. I am not as quick as you, but I have millennia of experience. I can do things you cannot even imagine, with your mere three hundred years."

She wasn't sparkling, on the verge of smiting him. It was a colder, deeper kind of rage and while he teleported away from her, Crowley promised himself that it would be the last time he runs away from her.

* * *

Months passed. Then years. It felt like ages. Like long, mad, dark ages.

Their plan worked, Lucifer was caged, and as a bonus, so was Michael. Castiel became God, then gave it up as a bad job, but not before dispatching of the last archangel, Raphael. All these things were happening at an alarming pace, Crowley's fortune rose and fell with Castiel and the Winchesters, but never, neither in his darkest moments, nor when his star was rising, never did Crowley go back to "Mesopotamia".

He was sure that she was keeping tabs on him. So, he started keeping tabs on her. It took him a while, but he managed to turn one of her most trusted agents, Ion. And, despite knowing in his bones that she was watching him, Crowley researched ways to get rid of his soul. And, despite finding out how to do it, he kept his word to her.

In his research, Crowley found about the deep bond that tied them together. Crowley learned that Castiel was tied to the Winchesters not just by circumstance, and common purposes – of friendship as they called it, but by the fact that he had got both of them out of hell. They weren't really aware that it was more than friendship or gratitude. They were bound together. And so were he and Naomi.

Crowley took a page out of the Winchesters' book and decided to ignore it. He told himself that he gathered information about her from Ion because she was a threat, and it was the truth. He always told the truth. It was important. It was essential. But it didn't have to be all the truth.

His disastrous collaboration with Castiel brought Naomi vividly into his mind. Naomi hadn't betrayed him. Naomi went to hell for him. Naomi saw his greatness, not just his usefulness. He had to force himself not to probe Castiel for news of her.

Events were developing madly. Leviathans, God 2.0 aka Castiel, angels fighting angels. Crowley expected to hear about her. Expected her to rise to the rule of heaven. Expected her to transform Heaven into another version of his Hell. Order and quiet.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

But when word of the tablets surfaced, Ion started really earning his money. He was so troubled by news about Naomi manipulating poor messed up Castiel that his attention slipped and that bitch "Meg" stabbed him. In a way, that was lucky, because it helped him from play cool and amused when Naomi appeared.

The tone of her voice when she inquired, a little more than politely, about his shoulder made him wonder what would be like if she came to him and healed him with that angelic power the winged smug bastards had.

As he had promised himself, he hadn't been the one to vanish. She had been the one to blink.

* * *

They met again when he tried to keep Bobby Singer's soul in hell. Crowley tried to be snarky, tried to be the tough guy in front of the Winchesters, but his heart wasn't in it. When he and Naomi would finally settle their issue, it would be in private, no living or ethereal hunters hanging around.

He let her win, enjoying the sensation of yet another lovers' spat. Crowley allowed himself to hope that things were getting back to some sense of sanity. When the two of them were talking again. Soon enough, there would appear a reason for them to work together.

They squabbled like teenagers over the tablets. He even got the satisfaction of shooting at her a bullet made out of an angel sword. He was so pleased to see her glowing and disappearing. The balance of power was definitely changing in his favour.

* * *

Crowley figured out Metatron's plan when it was too late to act. All he had left was to go to Mesopotamia. When she didn't appear next to him in a matter of minutes, he did the unthinkable. He prayed for her.

"Why?"

He opened his eyes and raised his head at the sound of her voice. He felt like making a joke. He felt like telling her that she made his prayers come true. But time was getting unbearably insufficient. He could live without having her in his life, but alive, somewhere in her cold Heaven.

"The scribe is dangerous. The prophet kept saying that there are notes on the tablets."

"Why did you call me?" she asked.

Her voice was maddeningly calm. Her patience was driving him insane. His temper flared and he yelled at her an acceptable version of the truth.

"Because you're in danger!"

"Times are dangerous. It's that sort of universe these days," she quoted the words he had said to Castiel.

"I know you, Naomi! You're going to stick your nose into that mind of his. This is a two bit angel who managed to stay cloaked from all of you and all of us for so long. This is an angel who understands the word of God! Don't underestimate him!"

He grabbed her wrists and looked into her eyes while he yelled at her in a tone that had no trace of humour. His palms burned again, the same sensation of acid on skin as all those years ago.

"Your concern is touching," she said, without irony, and went on before he could interrupt her, "and you are right. That is exactly what I'm going to do. I have to try to stop him."

Naomi freed her right hand from his grip and touched the side of his face softly. It didn't burn as he expected. Even in such a moment of tension and worry, a part of his mind observed the anomaly. If he was touching her, in anger, in a manner meant to restrain her, the skin to skin contact was burning. When she was touching him, with… affection? there was no pain. He decided to make an experiment, now that his left hand was no longer holing her right.

Slowly, almost shyly, he touched her forehead and her temple with his fingers. No pain. Just that thrill of electricity sparkling. He dared more. Slid his hand through her hair. No pain. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her gently toward him. His right hand was still gripping tightly her left wrist, and there was still pain there. But when their lips touched, there was no pain. Just tingling. He whispered, his lips brushing hers.

"Don't get killed."

She smiled, and her lips brushed his as she answered him.

"No deal."

With that, as it kept happening lately, she vanished.


	8. The Story Starts

**Disclaimer**

_**Supernatural **_is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

_The chapter begins in "Sacrifice" - season 8, episode 23 and goes through the beginning of season 9. _

I used Monty Python's "Parrot Sketch". Not mine. And the line from Good Omens. Also not mine.

**Chapter 7 – The story starts**

The script was finished. The Scribe had won. Crowley's world crumbled. Even if the gates of Heaven were the ones being closed, not the gates of Hell, his world was into pieces. He was on the brink of becoming human again. Powerless, chained up, overwhelmed by feelings! He felt her disappear, felt the connection between them fade away. He had learned about the connection between a soul rescued from Hell and the angel who got it out, but he truly understood it only when it was gone.

Stupid, stupid angel! She let herself be killed. He had warned her and she just wouldn't listen!

But his survival instinct wouldn't let him wallow in feelings he neither wanted, nor was able to control. He had to fight for his life. The way she, the stupidest angel in all creation, had decided not to.

And Crowley fought. He bit Sam and used the blood to ask for help from his subjects. When Abaddon tried to kill him, he barely survived, but the brownie points he had earned with the Winchesters, kept him alive.

Crowley bided his time, chained to a chair, in the middle of a devil trap, in darkness and in silence. He had that one secret virtue. Patience. He would be out of his chains. His chance would come.

In the darkness of the Winchesters bunker, wherever that might have been, she came to him again.

"Hello Crowley."

Naomi.

He instantly recognized her voice, her presence, as in a dream, and yet as all the times they had been close. The human blood was messing with his mind even more than the trap and the magic manacles he was wearing with the grace of a fallen Christ.

"You're dead," he whispered. "All the other angels have fallen, but you're not among them. You are dead."

He wasn't looking at her but he heard the smile in her voice.

"I am not."

He shook his head stubbornly. Tears were coming to his eyes, caused by the pain of losing her and even more the self pity for losing his mind. He was even feeling the soul -to-angel connection that had been lost when she had died.

"I know I'm going crazy. You can't be here. Even if angels could become ghosts, you wouldn't haunt me. I never harmed you."

"Why do you think I'm dead?" she asked.

It was just like her, to sound calm and collected when making the supernatural equivalent of a conjugal visit. He was tempted to answer her, to tell her that he pieced things together from what he heard from the Winchesters and Castiel, to tell her that he felt her dying. No point debating with a hallucination. He based his rant on a Monty Python sketch that, had she been truly there, Naomi probably wouldn't have recognized.

"You have passed on. You are an angel no more. You are expired and gone to meet your maker. You are a stiff. Bereft of life. You rest in peace! You kicked the bucket. You shuffled off your feathery coil. Run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. YOU ARE AN EX ANGEL!"

"Why are you so sure?" she asked, the smile even more clearly audible in her voice.

"I felt you fade! YOU LET HIM KILL YOU!"

Naomi took pity on him. She lit a candle. He saw her, every bit as beautiful as he remembered. The shadows were playing across her face, in turns concealing and revealing her smile and her eyes.

Then she came closer. Oh, the hallucinations of the King were better than reality! His mind, the very mind that the real Naomi had considered perfect, was now broken. Was now lying to him. His beautiful mind was fooling all of his senses. Once the hallucination got close, he could smell her, and when she got closer still, when she reached out to touch him, he could feel her fingers tracing the fine lines around his eyes, tracing the contour of his lips. He felt her lips touch his forehead. And all the touches felt exactly like those from so long ago, when she had presented herself to him in mortal form. On the inside, Crowley was roaring with laughter at the irony of his madness – his broken mind was reminding him of the one time Naomi had allowed him power of life and death over her, while at that very moment, he was the powerless one.

"I wanted to thank you for the warning," she said, pressing her lips almost chastely against his temple.

"It was so completely characteristically chivalrous of you to do it," she said, kissing him properly. "The fact that it served your interests to have me alive and useful rather than dead and not useful does not change the fact that, in your way, you tried to help me."

Her words were alternated with teasing kisses. She was zeroing in on his mouth. By the time she reached the corner of his lips, he was squirming, willing himself to believe that she was not a figment of his imagination. That she was real.

"God helps those who help themselves," were the last words she said for a while.

Crowley allowed himself the pleasure of her touches. There was little choice, restrained as he was. The hallucination was frustratingly avoiding his mouth. For a while frustration kept building, having her straddling him, squirming in his lap, kissing him with mounting dare. All he was allowed to do was sniff her hair and brush his lips against her throat and shoulders when she was close enough to his mouth. The frustration reached a certain point when his flawless brain started to work again.

If she was created by his imagination, most of her behaviour was explainable. That was exactly how he had imagined her. Eager to learn his body with her mouth and her hands, but still timid at first. Still unsure of what she wanted or what she should do. With an immensity of knowledge at her disposal, she would seem virginal at their first sensual encounter.

The thing that irked him was why she wasn't kissing him on the mouth. He had imagined that first kiss more times than it was in keeping with his status as King of Hell. She was experimenting with a very pleasant way of nibbling at his earlobe when the truth became self evident. She wasn't kissing him on the mouth because that's how deals were sealed. Even without a soul, Naomi would never risk making a deal with him. The connection between them was so strong that a deal might occur just based on her unspoken desires. There was no literature on this subject –demonized souls being rescued from hell had never been documented to his knowledge.

"You're real," he said, exhaling the words along with a sigh.

"I told you so," she said, not pausing from what she was doing.

He started laughing. The sound was warm, the laughter was shaking his whole body, the entire room seemed to have lit up. She stood straight, and looked him in the eye with an inquiring expression. Crowley made sure he memorized every detail: she looked tousled, lips a bit swollen from kisses, bosom trembling from shallow, rapid breaths, cheeks reddened, and her eyes… there was no trace the blue irises. Her pupils were completely dilated.

"How? How did you survive?"

He should ask her to get him out of those chains. He should think carefully of the why. Why was she there. He should have thought about a lot of things and yet all he managed to do was to be happy that she was alive. And learning how she survived would prolong the momentary happiness.

He watched her relax. She pasted herself against his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her lips were tickling the skin on his neck when she spoke.

"A trick. I barely managed to pull it off. I supressed my grace. They all thought I was dead. And I just let myself sliiiiide… from Heaven. You who love quoting the English humourists so much: I didn't so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards."

He laughed again. Naomi quoting Pratchett talking about Crawly. Priceless.

"I learned so much from you, my king," she whispered, her voice vibrating as his laughter shook them both. "Always so careful with the bodies you inhabit. You made me think differently. Following you for all those centuries… I managed to find this body. That can supress my very essence. For a while."

"I remember," he said, kissing her hair, above her temple, the best he could reach.

"I can't free you," she said, sitting up again.

Her eyes were blue again, but most of her appearance was still that of a cherub up to no good. He nodded, having expected this. If Naomi could have freed him, they wouldn't have spent a second more than necessary in this place. Not because she cared about him so much that she didn't want him to suffer, but because she wouldn't risk discovery and capture. So, it was time for the essential question. Why had she reveal to him that she was alive.

"Why are you here?"

She should have expected the question, but she looked surprised. Crowley was beginning to wonder if he missed something when he noticed that she was blushing and looking more and more embarrassed. What the… his mental exclamation was interrupted by her muttered reply.

"I want to know something."

"What?" he asked, shocked at the answer he had guessed.

"I want to know… what it feels like… to make love to you."

Brave little ex-angel. Muttered or not, her words were a truth so embarrassing that he knew no other angel who would admit it aloud.


	9. The First Time

**I just realized that this chapter was actually MA not just M rating. I'm deleted some sentences that had naughty words, and a few rather descriptive paragraphs. If you want the full version of this chapter and the uncensored versions of the future smutty chapters, find my account on archiveofourown as goodgirl_astray (next chapter is almost done)  
**

**Notes**

The story fills in gaps with my headcannon.

I'm well aware that the show leaves gaps and unexplained stuff the size of Grand Canyon and they make up stuff for plot convenience and we all still love it, so don't expect from an explanation about who removed Crowley's soul, why and exactly where in Hell it was hidden – let's just be happy that Naomi is enough of a badass to go get it. Also, no detailed explanation about Naomi's descent and how she was able to retain her host body. I could do that but the story would have too many boring bits.

**Disclaimer**

Supernatural is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

**Chapter 8 - The First Time**

He wasn't laughing any more although he really felt like it. This has never been among his plans (the King did not have fantasies. He had plans, contingencies, schemes). Sexually adventurous though he was, his greed for power had not translated into finding pleasure in submission, like so many other powerful humans he had "worked with" over the centuries. Her timing amused him to no end. Of all the moments when he could have given her what she needed – she wanted to know about making love, but he was sure that what she needed was a hard shag – she stumbled upon this one!

He was barely standing his current predicament - being chained in the Winchesters' basement. The only thing that kept him from insanity was his long trained patience, and his awareness that they were more afraid of him than they were letting on. He had his long, very long term plans that helped him accept his captivity to the hands of some of his most useful enemies.

"Hell of a timing, love," he said.

Her eyes fluttered a little, embarrassment painted all over her face. The penny dropped – she had actually chosen this moment. Because, just like Moose and Squirrel, she was too afraid of him to engage into something like this while he was free and in possession of all his powers. Oh, she was going to pay for this once he got free! Crowley hid the thought and the incipient "plans" deep in his mind. He didn't want her to catch on to his dark and delicious designs.

"Oh, you sneaky little angel," he said, in the sweetest, sexiest tone he could muster under the circumstances. "You chose this moment. To have me at your mercy, unable to resist you, unable to do anything to you. Wam bam thank you, your Majesty."

Naomi looked horrified.

"I would never do something against your will! I thought you..." she looked down, between their bodies.

He was aroused and given his huge size, the arousal was obvious.

"Didn't say I don't want to. Just remarking on how incredibly sneaky it was to choose the one situation in which I can't do anything to you. By the way, this means that you'll have to do all the heavy lifting. Think you can handle **me**, love?"

"Yes," she whispered softly. "I prepared for this," she said even quieter.

Crowley was about to ask what she meant by that, jealous and excited at the same time by images of her training with toys and training with other men. His thoughts were interrupted however by the feel of her long, elegant fingers undoing his pants in hurried, nimble moves. Crowley cursed that the chain around his neck was preventing him to move his head enough to see her hands busily worshipping him. He felt everything though, the caresses, the pressure of her delicate grip. He hissed with pleasure and frustration.

In a very efficient manner, Naomi hitched up her pencil skirt and straddled him. He wanted that more than anything he could think of at the moment, more than he wanted to be free from his chains, and yet he heard himself talking.

"I think I deserve some foreplay. It's not fair to take me like that, without at least giving me a chance to..." his voice trailed off and Naomi exclaimed in a high pitched voice:

"To what?!"

Oh, the wonderful sound of her frustration was balm to his wounded dominant personality.

"Open your shirt," he said.

His tone was calm, like a suggestion made by a senior partner in a business meeting. Naomi froze in the awkward position she was, legs on the either side of his chair and her opening almost touching the tip of his huge cock. Crowley knew that all she had to do was disobey him, impale herself on his cock and he would give and take as much pleasure as he could in that situation. He knew that they both wanted and needed the release, and that, for her, the smartest thing would be to do what she had planned and ignore his words.

He was smiling serenely at her when she had raised her eyes from what she was doing to look at him. It was that Cheshire cat smile that he knew annoyed her. But he also knew that the reason it annoyed her was that it meant that he was in control of the situation. She closed her eyes slowly and her hands moved to the buttons of her shirt. In that moment, that sign of submission made Crowley realize that he might actually love this strange being.

Her skin looked creamy, her breasts were perfect in their modesty.

"Come closer. I want to touch you."

She obeyed with maddening slowness. Crowley could feel her body shaking with the strain of maintaining that position, and probably in no small part with emotions she was unused to. Her legs were shaking slightly and she pressed them against his to steady herself. His face was between her breasts now, his beard scratching the velvet skin. The chain allowed him only millimeters to move, which was a blessing and a curse. With so little leeway, all he could do was to rub his beard gently against her breasts one at a time and place the lightest kisses, which felt appropriate to the moment and yet he still felt like biting her, punishing her for... For what? For making him want her so desperately...

"Left," he whispered, straining to reach her left breast with his lips.

She turned and offered it to his greedy mouth. Crowley flicked his tongue over her nipple. Electricity shot through them, as expected, and when he closed his mouth around her tender flesh, Naomi lost concentration for a second, her knees gave in and she lowered herself. Electricity, again, coursed through their bodies. That highly addictive feeling of sharing lightning with her.

... ... ... ... ...

"There you are, darling," he whispered ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ... ...

He was wondering if she could hear him, she seemed lost in a haze of pleasure. Apparently she did, ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ... He barely managed to stop the howl that wanted to emerge from his depths. He strained against his chains to the point of breaking the skin in places. Naomi's rolling orgasms began to fade after he spent himself in her depths. She crashed boneless against his chest.

"Did you imagine it could feel like this?" he asked.

His voice sounded raspy, as if the scream he had felt had actually ripped out of him.

"I never dared to imagine it," she answered. "Always tried to stay away from you, even in my thoughts."

She made the effort to stand up. Crowley watched her button her shirt, smooth her skirt. With a few deft touches of her fingers even her hair looked fine. It hurt a little, to see the signs of what had happened between them erased. She got tissues from a pocket, wiped his cock and tucked him neatly back in his pants. He was about to snarl something nasty at her when she spoke.

"It was something worth staying alive for. I hope it will motivate you to get out of here."

She blew out the candle and walked out, leaving him in darkness, but with bright light in his tormented soul.


	10. The Second Time

BUREAUCRACY IN ACTION

**Notes**

From now on, you can pretty much expect some smut in every chapter. **The more explicit parts are deleted to comply with the M rating. If you want the full version of this chapter and the uncensored versions of the future smutty chapters, find my account on archiveofourown as goodgirl_astray **

**Disclaimer**

Supernatural is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

Borrowed a line from the awesome BBC show "The Thick of It". It's going to be almost painful to see Peter Capaldi as the Doctor not cursing like fucking Malcolm Tucker!

**Chapter 9 - The Second Time**

The second time she visited his dungeon, it didn't come as much of a shock. It was a very pleasant surprise nonetheless.

She was wearing something far more adept to the purpose of her visit. A nice fairly short black dress with a long zipper that went almost down to her cute arse of hers that was going to get so much use once he was out of those pesky chains.

"This looks remarkably like a booty call," he said, as if complaining.

Naomi was with her back to him, giving him the best view as she slowly unzipped her dress. She turned her head to look at him, stopping with the zip down to her shoulder blades, and his heart sort of stopped with it. His instincts hadn't let him down before, and some Hannibal/Clarice interaction couldn't harm. He had to act like the dangerous beast that he was, while she had to uphold her part of pure of heart and strong of will beauty.

"I wouldn't want to impose," she said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, impose away, darling. You did it so well the last time."

"Thank you. May I?" she asked, pulling the zipper a little way down.

Oh, she figured out that he liked being in control! If he had to be honest, it wasn't difficult.

"You may. But don't take off the dress."

She did as told, went closer, with the back of he dress open in a generous V. He sniffed as discreetly as he could. Her human scent was very appealing, whatever French perfume she was using was barely noticeable under the scent of her arousal. Well, well, well, she was definitely enjoying her part of the role play.

"Let's try a variation. Like last time, but with your back to me."

Naomi performed her part with the efficiency he would expect from her in any other situation. He watched her composure and the word that came to mind was: serenity. They were engaged in the most intimate of all human relationships, both trapped in their human hosts, yet to his eyes she was more of an angel now than when he had looked at her true form. Crowley pulled the heavy levers of his mind and forced the lucid thoughts away. He wanted to enjoy the limited contact his chains allowed without having thoughts and analyses running distracting him from the exquisite sensations her fingers and her lips were leaving on his skin.

... ... ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ... ... ...

Naomi straightened up, started moving her hips in that pagan cadence, like Salome's hypnotic dance. This time, Crowley couldn't hold back the roar. He came inside her again, explosively, with the same frustration of not being able to hold her hips while he was the one to make the final move.

He recovered his lucidity faster than he wished, and a thought struck him.

"Aren't you worried that you might get pregnant?" he asked, while he was softening inside her.

Naomi twisted her body so that they were still connected, but she could look at him. She seemed amused at the question.

"No," she answered smiling, and when he frowned in concentration, she laughed before speaking. "Oh, that mind of yours never stops does it?!"

She stood up and began the same cleaning routine. She was wiping him when she spoke again, mirth evident in her voice.

"Are you worried that I'm going to use your seed to create a clone army?"

He wasn't worried about that particular eventuality until she put the image in his mind! If anything was to be learned about this being, that was that she made her plans well. Either she had some plans with his... fluids, or she had taken measures so that nothing happened. He decided not to think about it and change the subject.

"How is Hell?" he asked, watching her get dressed. Well, zipped up really.

"Chaotic," she answered.

Crowley gritted his teeth at that. All his well established, orderly hell. He could just imagine Abbadon messing up everything. He didn't even want to think about all the work he would have to put into rebuilding consumer confidence. They had probably defaulted on deals, made some awful showy appearances that made humans more weary of dealing with his people in the future. He was going to have to mop up a fucking _hurricane_ of _piss_ from all of these neurotics!

"Heaven?" he asked, expecting the answer that would make him slightly less annoyed.

"The same."

He was relieved to hear it. He could imagine the angels going crazy on Earth, full of grace but essentially homeless.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" when she didn't answer he went on. "Of all the things you could do with your after life... you come here. In all the senses of the word."

Naomi smiled that sad little smile of hers that touched him on some uncomfortably deep level. She soon shrugged it off as she looked into his eyes, and the smile became lighter, almost cheery.

"It's the first time off I've had in millennia. I'm on holiday and I decided to enjoy myself."

"No one would certainly find you here," he said, pretending to sulk because he was just a part of her camouflage.

"Don't pout. The Winchesters could find me, and I doubt they would welcome me. And, despite the angel sygils around this place, I sensed at least another angelic presence around here, who would totally ruin my deceased status. Besides, you can't possibly imagine it's easy to get through their defences. Abaddon couldn't penetrate the heavy duty protection they have."

"But you can?"

"It's mostly protection from the dark side, some anti-angelic stuff. But the anti-human devices they have take just concentration, a good grasp of engineering, and agility."

She was actually smirking. In a very self congratulatory way.

"You have agility," he conceded, looking in a very knowing way at her legs and hips. "A real cow girl..."

"Still, getting in is easier, leaving is hard. On the way back my legs are kind of unsteady."

He looked at her very carefully. Her tone had been somewhere in the vicinity of flippant, but not totally. From her, he wasn't immune to flattery. She tried to make it about sex, but "leaving is hard" had sounded a hell of a lot more serious than that.

"Seriously, Crowley, you have to get out of here," she said in his silence.

"I'm in stale mate at the moment, darling. Do you have any of your bright ideas?"

"No," she answered. "Once you're out, how are you going to take out Abaddon?"

"I have some plans," he lied.

"You wonderfully young demon. I used to be glad that Lilith hasn't taught you much history."

She used to be glad. Which meant that there was something she knew and he should know, too. Crowley perked up at this. She had been right to say that he definitely her alive and useful.

"Why aren't there any more Knights of Hell?" she asked, in the professorial tone he found arousing even when she was annoying the hell out of him.

"Bird flu?" he opined.

"You can do better than that," she said laughing at the notion.

Crowley would never get tired of making her laugh. He might use a lot of tickling when he was going to torture her.

"How do things usually work in our world? What can kill a powerful being?"

"Something equally powerful. Blood relatives. Something that has the same origin. The Knights were as strong as the Archangels, so... other Knights, but there are no others left - good thing, too. Legends say that the Archangels killed the Knights. No Archangels left, either. "

Naomi flinched a little at that.

"Let's not go around believing all the legends," she said. "Cain himself killed the Knights with the First Blade."

"I'd like to hire him to finish the job, darling, but I have this intuition that I can't pay what the father or murder charges."

"Probably not," she agreed. "But you can use his weapon."

"Where is it?"

"That... I don't know. Crowley, I don't know everything," she added when he was about to voice his doubts.

"No, my lady, but you have a curious mind. Very rare in your race," he said.

He enjoyed seeing her flustered at his words and his unusually earnest tone, but he couldn't much sustain that kind of conversation. He reverted to his default bawdy disposition.

"You were curious about making love to me. We got that out of the way," he said.

"Twice," she interrupted him with an expression of fake adoration.

"Aren't you curious how it feels to go down on me?"

"Oh, I don't think that would be fair without you having a chance to show me the meaning of silver tongue demon. And..."

She leaned to whisper the rest of the answer in his ear. He got aroused again, her words painting a hot picture in his imagination, and did not stop her leaving. Her views on the matter were quite valid.

* * *

Note:

Watching "First Born" again, I noticed Crowley saying he searched for the First Blade for decades. To make this fit into my story (I don't want to step on cannon if I don't have to), I'll say that he chased the First Blade because he knew it to be a powerful weapon, not because he knew he one day might need it to kill a Knight of Hell (as far as he knew, all the Knights were dead). So, Naomi gave him a lead, that the First Blade could kill Abaddon. It's important to think so because I believe that Crowley never outright lied to Dean (as he actually states emphatically in the last episode of Season 9).


	11. Naomi's Secret

**Notes**

******The more explicit parts are deleted to comply with the M rating. If you want the full version of this chapter and the uncensored versions of the future smutty chapters, find my account on archiveofourown as goodgirl_astray**

I know I'm running the risk of turning Naomi into a Mary Sue character, who knows almost everything and has been involved in almost everything, but I think that the angels have been around and scheming for a lot longer than Crowley and because the writers were so kind as to offer a female angel character, she's the one feeding Crowley information, and she's going to be part of the explanation why two vanilla mortals like the Winchesters had the strength to survive Hell.

Also, I have a doozy of a back story for Naomi, which is probably going to get written. The final chapters of this fic will have spoilers for that one, which will act as a prequel and a companion piece to this one. Writing from a female POV, even if it's a female-angel (grrrr, no such thing right?) should be easier :)

**Disclaimer**

Supernatural is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

**Chapter 10 - Naomi's Secret**

Her words resonated through Crowley's loneliness. They made him dream of exquisite ways to torture her. She had played along with his need for control, but beyond the shared insanity of them actually having sex in the heart of enemy territory, they both knew she could have made him do anything. She could have taken the pleasure she wanted without as much as a kind word to him. And he resented her for the very kindness of pretending to worship him. That read like a sign of pity. He had to punish her for the insult.

The things he did to her... in his mind, in his darkness, in his frustration!

Naomi never visited him again, but the chance to be free presented itself. The King took every bit of advantage he could out of that situation. He negotiated his freedom, got the famous Gadreel kicked out of Moose, and learned a code word that only the brothers knew. All in all, an excellent outcome.

Crowley was feeling excellent. Mostly about himself. He managed to emerge on top again. His "**Vote Crowley**" campaign was going well. Having the Winchesters plus Castiel sort of on his side, or at least on a side that was along his side, was as close to a guarantee as possible that Abaddon was for the chop. For good. There was still the irksome problem of actually locating the blade. Hard didn't mean impossible. And Crowley had always loved challenges.

Finding Naomi had been somewhat easier. He was not in the least surprised to find her in a monastery. In his thorough research of this particular foe, Crowley had learned that her current vessel was that of a nun. Undiagnosed at the time, the none had been one of those humans afflicted by Asperger's syndrome. A massive intellect without the burden of empathy. No wonder Naomi had chosen this body! He would bet serious money that Naomi had obtained permission to occupy the body by logical arguments.

He was aware that Naomi was not in the monastery for a communion with "Daddy". She was using their massive collection of texts on supernatural subjects.

It was child's play for Crowley to cast a spell that ensured their privacy. She had been a bad, bad girl not coming to visit him in so long, and things were bound to get loud.

She was looking at the door when he approached, having sensed his presence. She was dressed as a nun, but a different habit than the one she had worn at their first proper meeting. For one thing, no wimple. He could see her face, could really appreciate her hair gathered in a severe, fantasy-librarian bun. And the cute glasses she was wearing were making the picture perfect for the role he had in mind for her.

"Hello darling," he said.

"Crowley," she acknowledged him, looking over the rim of her glasses at him.

She walked towards him without hesitation, but Crowley, in full possession of his powers, didn't even need to make an effort to get the sense of her state. Pure, unadulterated fear, without even an undercurrent of arousal. What was even more annoying, her grace was extremely dimmed. As if she had over exerted herself. He looked around the room, taking in the multitude of manuscripts, but before he could start setting up the game, Naomi's voice broke the silence:

"Stop this cat and mouse game right now! What do you want?"

He advanced and she took a step back, her thighs hitting table. She was effectively trapped between the massive wooden table and his body.

"Is this any way to greet your lover?" he asked, vaguely annoyed that she ruined his opening line.

Oh, if he could bottle this priceless reaction, to preserve it forever, to have it whenever he wanted to get high! Shame made Naomi's cheeks burst in flames. Her face was such a lovely pink colour, Crowley couldn't help reach out to touch it. And just like magic, with that touch, arousal spiked through her fear. After that, emotions started showing like a kaleidoscope. Arousal, shame, worry, guilt.

"Cat got your tongue, love?" he asked, holding her chin between thumb and forefinger.

He leaned closer, as if to kiss her on the mouth, and the tension in her body was painful to behold. She had tensed like a violin cord. He could start playing like a virtuoso on such a responsive instrument. He did want to kiss her, but it wasn't the right time. No way near enough build up to take from her the kiss she feared the most. He reached passed her to one of the manuscripts on the table. Naomi grabbed his arm and tried to push him away. He was almost disappointed to note that she had only her human strength. In a split second, she was splayed on the table, with an arm twisted behind her back. Naomi tried to struggle, but all she managed to do was push all the manuscripts off the table with her free arm.

Crowley slid the angel blade from the sleeve of his coat. He had envisioned more banter first, but seeing librarian-Naomi in that position, sensing her so utterly vulnerable was enough to kick his pent up sexual needs into overdrive. He sliced through the black habit that was hiding her from his sight, but paused before pulling the sides apart. He slid the steel under the fabric, resting the flat of the blade against her skin. She shivered, making him want to feel more of her.

"If you want to stop, at any point, just say Colt," he told her, breaking character enough to offer her the safeword.

He saw her nod and replaced the steel with his fingers. As he made his way under the rough cloth, Naomi shivered even more. The slight tingling of electricity warned him that he was touching her with real affection. The notion bothered him and he threw the angel blade into the table, close the Naomi's right ear. The blade went a few inches in the wood of the table. She gasped, and while the blade was still twinging, Crowley ripped off her clothes. In a rushed movement he pulled down her panties, leaving them across her thighs. She looked beautifully exposed. The scent of her arousal was making his head spin. He ran his fingers along her spine, willing himself not to start spanking her. Not. Just. Yet.

... ... ... ...

... ... ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ...

He untied the belt and gathered her in his arms. They were both shaking, and oddly reluctant to look at each other, as if lucidity would come too soon if they did. Crowley took his coat off and draped it over her shoulders, to cover the fact that the back of her habit was slit. They sat on the edge of the table, in an awkward half embrace.

"How did you get out?" she asked, almost resting her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, the usual. Made myself invaluable and negotiated my freedom."

He felt her relax a little at these words, but didn't make too much of it.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in turn.

"Oh, the usual. Staying dead and keeping my mind alive. I'm trying to find clues about the blade, but... nothing. Did you have any luck?"

"Not with the blade," Crowley admitted. "But I did get the other part of the set. The Mark of Cain."

"You don't need the Mark," she said and pulled out of the hug to look at him.

"I'm not going to be the one using the Blade against that Mad Ginger!" he exclaimed. "It's dangerous. I could get killed."

When she didn't even crack a smile, he went on with a shrug.

"Cain gave the Mark to Dean Winchester."

"Dean has the Mark of Cain?" she asked with such horror in her voice that Crowley took a very good look at her. Why would she give a toss about Dean Winchester's fate? He was a tool like any other in their plans. Like others had been before. Like moron Dean Winchester himself had been when it came to caging Lucifer. The boy was quite skilled at unknotting such messes. He was as reliable as a gun pointed to a target. Why was she so upset about?

She hit him. The first blow wasn't hard compared to the punishment Crowley was used to, but he realized she had put all her human strength behind it. She kept punching and he let her, even when his nose broke and his lip split. He let her scrape her knuckles against his teeth. Let her smash her delicate hands against his cheekbones and his jaw. He was enduring the onslaught because he had to find out the reason behind this wildly uncharacteristic behaviour. He put a stop to it only when he felt her gather her grace. He caught her wrists and snapped the magic manacles on. Granted, he had manufactured them with more playful reasons in mind, but they were nonetheless adept of restraining her grace.

"Naomi, talk to me!" he commanded pushing her against the wall.

He almost wished that it was part of another game, a scheme of hers to make him punish her. The King did not wish for things. Nor did he waste time on deluding himself. Something was definitely wrong with Naomi. Just to cover the possibility, he told her.

"Say the safeword, and I'll let you out of the manacles."

She looked at him with murder in her eyes. They were clearly outside the confines of their games. So the damn manacles better stay the hell on until he sorted out what rattled her.

"Okay, we're not playing. Tell me what's wrong? Why are you acting like this?"

"I'll have to kill you for this," she said.

She sounded calm and serious. It annoyed him.

"WHY?" he yelled.

"Because, you stupid, ignorant, self serving bastard, you don't know the price of carrying the Mark!"

"Why the fuck do you care?" he yelled back at her. "What does one more human count when it comes to taking out a Knight of Hell?!"

He watched her start to shout back at him and swallow the words at the last moment. Had the moment not been tensed, he would've found it amusing. Her, gulping like a gold fish.

She crumpled, slumped against the wall, the fire put out by tears. She closed her eyes, but the tears spilled out, streamed down her cheeks fast, their weight pulling them down fast. He felt the drops on his hands. They burned into his skin like acid, removing small patches of skin. To have this effect on him, the tears had to be caused by a great deal of pain.

Crowley wished he could torture the truth out of her. It would be far more entertaining than the other way. But the other way was more likely to yield results. So, he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, smearing her hair with the blood coming from his ruined face. Naomi started crying in earnest, and Crowley held her, enduring the pain that came as her tears slowly dissolve portions of his skin.

"I'm sorry," he said and almost meant it although he didn't know what he had done to hurt her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry," he kept saying, rocking her gently.

After a while, her sobs subsided. She disentangled herself from his embrace and he removed the manacles without a word. She looked so despondent that Crowley worried that he might have done something irreparable. She wiped her face and went to the table, starting to gather the papers scattered during their earlier fun session.

"Naomi?"

She didn't react in any way. In a matter of seconds all the manuscripts were stacked up neatly in the middle of the table.

"You can't not tell me! You said you'll have to kill me for this. I have to know what "this" this is!"

"I was stupid. I thought you could use the First Blade yourself, not drag a human into this."

"Naomi!"

The tone was severe now. She was lying to him! Or at least she wasn't telling him everything which amounted to the same thing. Of course he wouldn't accept that as an explanation for her outburst. She turned to look at him. The desperation in her eyes frightened him. And the words that followed shook him to the core.

"Of all the humans, you did this to one of my boys."


	12. The Impossible Mother

BUREAUCRACY IN ACTION

Notes

There are still a few weeks till Season 10 and I'll just use some pretext for more Crowley x Naomi interaction, without in any way trying to guess what the new season will bring.

Spinning the cannon – I believe that in cannon Naomi didn't see the Winchesters as anything else than useful humans, but in this story, Naomi never wanted to harm Dean, and ordering Castiel to kill him was, for her, the opposite of harming Dean because his soul would come to Heaven and he would be happier there than on Earth. Not to mention that having messed up Castiel's mind so much, he could have misunderstood her order. When Dean confronted her about it, she said "he would hear it that way" as if her orders had been different than they were perceived by Castiel.

Thank you featherkitten for pointing out the inconsistency.

Disclaimer

Supernatural is a television series, created by Eric Kripke, produced by Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision and Warner Bros. Television, distributed by Warner Bros. Television

The title of the chapter – inspired by Doctor Who "the impossible girl".

The Impossible Mother

Crowley's jaw dropped.

"What?"

Naomi sighed and pulled Crowley's coat tighter around herself as if to protect herself from physical cold.

"You, who call me a bureaucrat, you think you know about planning? About the patience to make a plan and the resolve to follow through? This is a story about bureaucracy. Sifting through oodles of data to get to the diamonds in the rough. Then spending decades polishing them... We knew of Lucifer's plan. We made the same calculations. Followed the same clues as Lilith. Watched the same families as Azazel. And we had to make our choice."

Who was "we" Crowley wanted to ask, but knew better than interrupt someone who was finally sharing a long kept secret.

"We had to be ready. If Lucifer had a perfect vessel, so should Michael. We made our choice. Doomed a family to solve the worst moments of the future. We picked them. I, **I **picked them. I picked Mary and John. They were so strong. So young and so strong. They would survive enough to raise Michael's vessel. They were strong enough that if either of them died, the other would be able to protect Michael's vessel. I picked them strong so they would day nobly at the right time."

Her voice was trembling. The words were coming with difficulty. The sentences were punctuated with shivers.

"So we made Michael's vessel. We studied John. Michael approached him during the Vietnam war. They worked well together. John was the best fit Michael had found since the beginning, and if the timing had been different, there would have been no need for... what we did."

Crowley wasn't even trying to hide the surprise. Naomi and Michael, possessing Mary and John Winchester.

"I convinced Mary to accept me. Not as my vessel. More like a hidden guardian. I was a part of her when Dean was conceived. As Michael was a part of John. We didn't do much, Dean's not a nephilim. We just wanted to give the child the best chance to withstand what was to come. I stayed with Mary for nine months, in a corner of her, ready to act if the demons came. We gave birth to Dean. Four years later, I was with Mary for another nine months. I had the chance to be around our first born for nine months. The moment of Sam's birth was one of perfect bliss and deepest sadness. I could sense John's and Dean's joy. Mary's elation. And then I was snapped out of her."

Crowley's mind was already re-examining his encounters with the Winchester boys in light of these revelations. Humans, with all the flaws and advantages of their species, imbued with angelic strength so subtle that Crowley himself hadn't been able to identify it.

"I did my best to watch over them over the years. I was with Mary when Azazel came for her, but I was forbidden to intervene. I was with her when the boys finally freed her from the house. I tried to protect all four of them, but I had to pick my battles."

Naomi closed her eyes like she was trying to contain at a particularly painful memory.

"Why do you think we sent a Seraph into Hell to retrieve Dean? He was our child. Something like this had never been done. You wouldn't believe the committee meetings we had to steer to get it done! But bureaucracy has its purpose..."

This time the pause was longer. Although Naomi was shivering in earnest now, Crowley kept his distance, unwilling to interrupt her confession.

"Michael was my commander, but Gabriel had been my mentor. And Gabriel believed in having a trick up his sleeve. Like you. You were the perfect hidden ace. I made sure that no one noticed you. All the things I saw that were extraordinary about you, I glossed over them in my reports. I altered the minds of our brightest operatives to keep you concealed. You were such an anomaly in the pattern that it allowed me to hope... If you were no longer on Lucifer's side, my boys might be spared their destinies. Michael wouldn't take over Dean, and Sammy..."

She shook her head and smiled bitterly.

"They survived, Crowley. They got through everything. I got them both out of Hell. I made arrangements so intricate that no one suspected that they were given a small edge. And now that I just got Sammy out of the Cage, now you have condemned Dean to something I don't know how to undo."

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked when she stopped speaking.

"The Mark will change Dean. Will consumme him. And I don't know if I can reset him from that change."

She slowly walked away from him.

"Naomi," he called after her.

She stopped, and spoke with her back to him.

"You have always been a wild card for me. Getting your soul out of Hell myself bound us. The ripples of that event went through each of our existence outside linear time. Don't worry too much that you might feel something for me. The connection will start to fade, and in a couple of centuries, you will forget me."

"And you will forget me," he pointed out.

This time Naomi turned and did meet his gaze. Crowley could read clearly that she didn't intend to be around for another couple of centuries.

"Crowley," she said. "I do not have a soul. What payment would you accept from me for a deal?"

"The next two hundred years of your life," he said, without hesitation.

"I am serious," she said.

"As am I," he replied. "I want you to be by my side for the next two hundred years. If you are right about the bond, by the end of it, we'll both be free."

"I can't meet your price."

"I gave you a discount! My usual payment, a human soul, is an immortal currency. I thought you were going to ask for something important. If it's not important enough for you to give me two lousy centuries, then forget it!" he said, working himself up as he spoke, unable or unwilling to say what truly bothered him.

"It is important," Naomi interrupted. "I just can't promise I have two hundred years to give you. I need you to take care of the boys if I'm not around any more. If I was sure I have that time, I wouldn't need the deal."

"Don't do anything stupid, Naomi," Crowley said, calming down. "We'll figure something out about Dean. We'll take care of Moose, until Dean is healed."

She came close to him, held his face in her palms, and pulled his head down to kiss his forehead.

"Even without a deal, promise me you will watch out for them!"

He was going to refuse, but the words that came out were:

"I'll do my best."

His mind was still spinning when she left. The bloody Winchesters were Naomi's sort of sons. Which made him... what? Their sort of step dad?

…...

In the following weeks, Crowley fell completely apart. The more he thought about his special angel, the more he resented the fact that he was a backup plan. That she had made Michael a child. He spiralled even worse, into even greater darkness. He allowed his addiction to human blood to consume him. To ruin his ability to focus on the prize. In a haze, he thought about getting Naomi back, getting her to promise him that she won't look for a way out. Getting her to fight Abaddon. He thought about using her like she had used him for so long. To do the dirty work.

Crowley almost lost interest in surviving. His efforts to locate the First Blade – pathetic. His attempts to find Naomi again – doubly so. He settled for Lola and for trying to stifle the sensation of failure by wallowing in partially cruelty free human blood, tried to wipe the feelings for his angel by sleeping with the most vacuous pretty demon he could find. He tried to forget about any obligations, promises, dangers. He took time off. And when he hit rock bottom, he called the boys.

He couldn't look at them the same way. He blamed it on his near brush with humanity when Sam called him out on it. He tried to blame it on a connection between them from all the blood the younger Winchester had pumped into him in that church. Which didn't mean it wasn't true, but it wasn't all the truth. Lying is best when there is a lot of truth in the words and only a sliver of deception.

The King of Hell wanted to restore his connection with Naomi. He understood her a lot better when, still under the influence of his quasi-restored humanity, he had to deal with changing the fate of his own son.

Crowley grew closer to Dean, the more he saw the effects the First Blade had on him. Some serious research gave him hope that he hadn't destroyed Naomi's son. When he was by Dean's dying bed, after he delivered his heartfelt speech, he saw Naomi in the doorway.

"_Listen to me Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now is not death, it's life. A new kind of life. Open your eyes Dean, see what I see, feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon."_

In the heartbeat before Dean opened her eyes, Naomi whispered her plea.

"Promise me!" as if their last conversation had ended moments, not months ago.

He nodded and made his own demand.

"Promise me you'll stay alive."

She nodded her agreement and disappeared. Her appearance had lasted mere seconds, and all he had was the testimony of his supernatural senses to tell him that she had been more than a hallucination. When Dean opened his fully black eyes, in the room there were only the two of them. Two demons.

…...

Dean Winchester was a pain in the arse as a demon. Powerful to Knight of Hell level, with an Archangel in his genetic make up, Crowley almost expected the boy to challenge him for the throne of Hades. Instead, Dean igored Crowley more or less completely and went back to hang with his brother and Castiel, their connection stronger than ever. Crowley dropped by every once in a while. Sometimes they summoned him, other times he faked needing their help.

They were slowly adjusting to this new reality when the bomb dropped. The Cage was open!

With Lucifer walking the Earth again, there was little room left for petty differences. Crowley was once again positioned as the smaller evil, so the Winchesters summoned him to help. He had kept close tabs on them and knew why they called him.

"Hello boys. Long time no fight against Satan," he said with his customary façade of good humour.

"Cut the crap, Crowley!" Dean said. "How the hell did this happen?!"

….. ….. ….

End notes

Well, here's my confession: when I was thinking about clueless angel Naomi having to have sex with Crowley without any help from him since the poor guy was tied up, and because I started with the premise that Crowley chose a very well endowed vessel – I thought that Naomi might have looked for a teaching sex partner. One thing led to another and... I couldn't get out of my head the image of Naomi having sex with John Winchester, with Mary's blessing. In my mind, Mary and John became friends with Naomi while she was in Heaven. So much so that part of some very intimate girl talk, Naomi told Mary that there is someone she's attracted to, and the fact that he made her lose control. Mary sort of volunteered John to teach Naomi about sex. I think that there is no jealousy in Heaven and John and Mary's love was strong enough not to be bothered by this act of kindness. And then I thought that they might have even more of a history than that, so... the impossible mother. Anyway, this is part of Naomi's story. Hopefully, there will be John/Naomi smut in a story far shorter than this one.


End file.
